


Abide

by AsgardianAngels



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Julian POV (but it does switch near the end), M/M, Post-Canon Cardassia, the tiniest of Parmak references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: A rainy evening, a snapshot in time, and nowhere to be but here.A vignette exploring the lasting effect of the war on Garak, from Julian's point of view.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Abide

**Author's Note:**

> I was encouraged to write this by EctoGeo, thank you! It's always Sad Garak hours in this house...  
> This was a rather spur of the moment thing, written in just two sittings. My first attempt dabbling in post-canon Cardassia, which I love immensely but I don't yet have the chops to tackle Kardasi and the internal politics involved for something longer. Vague references to beta canon, but nothing huge. Also as an ecologist I enjoy thinking about those aspects of the war and this planet, so I added in a couple of things to that effect. Info about Cardassia's seasons from beta canon as well. My last fic was dialogue-heavy, and this is the opposite, so it evens out, right?

Julian padded on bare feet through the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of redleaf tea to his lips as he paused to take in the sight of dirtied cutting boards laying haphazardly in the sink and a heaping mound of stems and insect-nibbled leaves on the counter that was destined for the compost pile. Nothing was wasted, especially when it could be used to bolster next year’s crop. Rain pattered on the roof, and through the little window above the sink Julian could see the misty air shrouding the garden and beyond, shrinking the world for a time. The plants needed the soaking, and at least these days the pH of it wasn’t so low that it ate away at the stone that composed most of the structures and statues in the city. It also gave him an excuse to put off taking that mass of vegetable refuse to its final resting place. He knew that when he did, Garak would remind him of a list of long-standing yardwork projects that needed attention, and inevitably use his bad back as an excuse again to coerce Julian into doing all of it. _Your back seems just fine during other physically strenuous activities_ , he smirked to himself. More likely than not Garak just wanted to kick back with a book, which he thoroughly pretended to read, and watch Julian toil on his hands and knees, his own private show. He didn’t mind it nearly as much as he should.

_Garak._ Before preparing dinner, Julian had hopped in the shower, washing away the clinical stench of that day’s shift in the infectious disease ward. Even now, Cardassia didn’t have the resources for sonic showers, at least not for the general populace. It was fairly low on the priority list, and rightly so. He’d grown used to real water trickling in rivulets over his sweat-sticky skin; it was one of the most indulgent pleasures for a human faced with the scorching, dusty summers of this alien world. They’d rigged their rain collection barrel to hook right up to the plumbing, to save allotted resources wherever they could. When Julian had rubbed his hair half-dry and thrown on something clean, Garak was nowhere to be found. Carried on nimble feet, Julian had one last place to look, and his suspicions proved correct.

He found Garak sitting on the back steps, sheltered from the drizzle by the wide awning. He made no move to acknowledge Julian, staring darkly ahead into the low fog that blanketed the city, hiding its austere architecture from prying eyes, toppled spires and twisted metal foundations stark reminders of how far they had yet to go before the landscape was recognizable again to the people that called it home. Julian knew that glassy-eyed stare, he’d seen it possess his lover’s features before. Garak’s expression was blankly neutral, but the worry lines pulled taut and minute creases beneath his eyes as he peered into the gloom betrayed the storm inside, far more tumultuous than the one forming ochre-tinged mud puddles in the garden. Garak would sometimes fall into these spells, when the weight of it all just became a bit too much. As the cooler weather threatened to usher in the frigid winter months, Julian expected their frequency might increase. At first he had been worried for his health, and even after months he still struggled not to slip into being _Dr. Bashir_ , to assess, diagnose, and treat as if Garak was his patient rather than his partner. But there was no affliction to cure, just a man and his sorrow. Garak didn’t need a doctor. He needed time, and sometimes Julian.

Setting his mug on the steps, Julian soundlessly sat himself down beside Garak, a hair’s breadth between them but not touching. After a moment, Garak slowly turned his head to appraise his companion, face looking pallid and sunken beneath his ridges in the muted gray glow around them. His eye ridges twitched almost imperceptibly upon registering Julian’s presence, something easily missed, but Julian had learned to read this man like an open book over the many years they’d known each other – and even more intimately so in the last several months since arriving on Cardassia Prime. Garak returned to his original position, hollow gaze stretching outwards far past the fog bank, to the mountains, maybe even the sea. Searching for just one small corner of this world that remained unmarred. This was as much of an invitation as Julian could hope to get.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he proffered gently.

No response, and that wasn’t unexpected. In the year before he’d come, Kelas had taken care of Garak, and he’d described to Julian how these descents into the darker recesses of Elim’s mind used to last much longer – hours, even days. Back when the memory of war was painfully fresh, the stench of bodies left to rot beneath immovable rubble choking the air as much as the acrid dust. When a single orchid struggling to bloom, sun blocked by toxic stormclouds hanging dense in the sky, seemed the last bastion of hope for an entire planet in mourning.

“You know,” he tried again, following Garak’s gaze into the distance, attempting to find the point he fixated on in a show of solidarity, “this thing we’re doing, you and I, part of it is sharing burdens. You don’t have to shoulder this alone. Not if you don’t want to, that is. It’s fine if you do, but. I’m here. In case you don’t.”

Several seconds passed between them. Then, silently, Garak laid his hand atop Julian’s on his knee. That was all, but it was enough. Julian felt so helpless at times like this, knowing there was little he could do to ease the pain of the one he loved. He wanted to talk to Garak, he wanted Garak to talk to him, to let the dam holding it all back to burst. Julian struggled to remain quiet, but again and again he bit back his words. _This isn’t about you. Stop making it about you._ Garak told him things in his own time. That trust wasn’t in question; how could it be, when the man had poured his heart out into prose, a life’s story and confessional for Julian’s eyes alone? The very thing that had prompted Julian to reexamine his priorities, realize his place was here? He couldn’t complain one bit. Garak had carved himself open, flayed himself on display willingly, for this world, for Julian, with the trust this doctor would sew him up again intact once he’d sated his curiosity and glimpsed what dwelled inside. Without the assurance that he’d be accepted by either of his two great loves. It was a courage on the deepest level that Julian envied. But for all the honesty they’d shared, there were times like these where words failed both of them. Garak didn’t need trite platitudes. Those wouldn’t bring his fellow countrymen back from the dead nor make the rivers flow again through the parched beds. The only thing of value Julian could give him is a choice, something Garak hadn’t had the luxury of most of his life. A choice to not be alone, if that was what he wanted.

It was unfair. All of it. If Julian dwelled on it he found his hands balled into fists, which he tried not to ever let Garak see. This man deserved better. He deserved peace, after everything. Julian was upset at himself for somehow not being enough to fill the entire void in Garak’s soul. But he had to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t capable of feeling the way Garak did about all of this. This wasn’t his planet (though, he thought, he could see it becoming home one day if it’d have him). He could not partake in the grieving process with the level of sincerity that penetrated Garak down to the bone, leaving him trembling, late nights lying in bed, turned away from Julian to hide the hands gripping the sheets white-knuckled. Being on the outside of this collective trauma looking in, Julian had never felt more like an alien. He was a doctor, one utterly useless to heal such a grievous wound. All he could do is try every day to learn, to listen, to empathize, and to help in what small ways he could. Mend a fracture here, cure an outbreak there. Garak appreciated it, was proud of him, he knew. He would surely tell Julian that he’d already done plenty, sacrificed more than enough for a world that he had no obligation towards. In fact he had, more than once. It didn’t satisfy the gnawing guilt inside him. No, platitudes were never meant for a man like Elim Garak. Or Julian Bashir.

Tentatively, he slipped his hand out from beneath Garak’s, and wound his arm gently around him, rubbing Garak’s shoulder through the thick wool he wore. Garak made no protest to the touch, instead leaning ever so slightly so his body pressed lightly against Julian’s side. He used the unspoken permission to reach forward and press a feather-light kiss to Garak’s temple, brushing a stray black hair behind his ear. He could feel Garak breathe in a little deeper this time. Julian set his hand back where it had been, and Garak’s fingers found his, interlacing them in that intimate gesture reserved for, well, pairs like them. Sometimes he was still in awe about all of this, what they were to each other now. But this wasn’t the time nor place to question, not when he could feel Garak’s pulse in his fingers, beating with his.

Cardassia would heal, with agonizing slowness at first, but inevitably gaining momentum as the spirits of the living outpaced the ghosts of the dead. Garak didn’t need reassurance of this; he knew it to be fact, as sure as the dawn, one he’d kept with him long before the war. It sprung from his love, and was the source of it. No darkness could last, and no force could break the back of such a strong and proud people, however buckled it may be. But the promise of a better tomorrow could not always prevent pain today. It was hard for Julian to accept, to allow Garak his hurt. Yet he knew better, after all he’d seen on this planet and during the war; even if he could distract Garak from his anguish doesn’t mean he should, not always. It offered no lasting respite, just chasing the pain away for a time until it grew and mutated into an all-devouring beast, fed when ignored. With difficulty Julian acknowledged the necessity of allowing that pain to crawl up from inside and see the light of day, so long as it didn’t consume you entirely in its hunger. If harnessed it could even be a force for good, for change, keeping you moving forward. Garak never wanted to let the memories of ruin fade completely, lest he become too comfortable and fail in his self-imposed duty to restart the heart of this world all by himself. _Hey, that’s more my area of expertise_ , Julian chuckled to himself. A noble, if ambitious, goal. He’d help in whatever way he could. Right now, that meant sharing this silent space without expectations.

Julian cast an idle thought to the oven, where dinner was roasting away, the savory scent of spiced roots and greens wafting on the breeze to where they sat. He could spare more time. But beside him, he felt Garak slowly stir, fingers squeezing his hand, coming back to his senses as if waking from a dream.

“You started dinner,” he observed quietly. There was a tone of guilt beneath the words, even though there needn’t be.

“It’s all set, it’ll be ready any minute.” Julian smiled softly. “It’ll help take the chill off. Wouldn’t want you to catch cold out here, shivering in your scales.” He offered the still lukewarm tea to Garak, who received it carefully with both hands. It was getting nippy out, even by human standards. Autumn on Cardassia was brief and wet, and the bronze tinge their garden had taken on was a sure sign the weather would turn glacial any week now.

After a long sip of the tea, Garak sighed. The words were still taking time to come to him, so he simply gazed at Julian, melancholy overwhelmed by a pang of gratitude thrumming deep in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever have the language to express how he felt in moments like these. Love was such a short and sweet little word, but Garak thought even it fell short at the best of times. He could spend the rest of his years scratching his head wondering what he’d done to deserve the man beside him, and this miraculous chance at building a life from the ashes that was fulfilled, that he could be _proud_ of. He just might, if fate allowed. Amazingly, when he stumbled – and oh, he did often, navigating the unfamiliar terrain of these new horizons, requited love and rebuilding – Julian stayed every time, with a hand outstretched to help him to his feet. He did so once again, right in front of him now. Garak took it, and was led out of the cold, back to the warmth and safety of their quaint little abode. Luxurious by present standards, with its intact walls, roof without leaks, and space enough for two comfortably. Election to public office had its perks, though the thought of depriving others of the shelter didn’t sit easy with him. They tried to live as frugally as possible, and give away what they could spare.

Taking a seat at the table, he watched as Julian pulled the food from the oven. The room was low-lit and cozy, just the way a Cardassian liked it, and as the scent of dinner reached him he melted into the embrace of the evening ambience. That ball of sorrow still writhed in his gut, but at least it stayed there, having been sated for a time. A plate was set in front of him, and after the first bite he had to hold back tears. He did, and instead commented on how much Julian’s cooking had improved lately, when given the chance to use fresh produce from the garden. Julian grinned at the compliment, and Garak looked at him, met those hazel eyes, and he trusted him, trusted like he’s never trusted before, the kind of trust his father warned him about. It felt like hope, like the dawn he knew waited in the distance behind the mist and fog even if he couldn’t see it from here. It felt like work to be done, and a direction to move in. He’d show Julian the morning glow – there truly was nothing like a Cardassian sunrise after all. Let it rain all it wanted now. It couldn’t hide the dawn forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while listening to 'Encore' by Red Hot Chili Peppers on repeat an inordinate number of times. I also highly recommend 'Amarillo' by Gorillaz for the mood of this fic. *chefs kiss* it's about the vibes


End file.
